Calling?

If there was a teacher who was teaching three news classrooms with three different age students than she was used to…that person feels like me as a mom each year.  I am challenged, invigorated, and fatigued by the changing responsibilities all at the same time.

Right now, coming home from church or for the weekend and having everyone sit to watch TV while there are dishes to be emptied, re-filled, tables to be wiped a floor to be swept, clothes to be fluffed and folder…learning to keep working my job in joy is my job.

And training them to help.

I’m working on both.

And it’s taking all I’ve got.

No…I don’t know how working moms do it…at all.  Nor would I want to have to try.

I thought after they were out of diapers it would be easier, but the papers mound, the floor is still needing the same attention it always did, more or less, and the clutter and play of five is about enough to drive me bonkers.

Today the preacher talked about finding your calling.  I don’t know…I’ve had times in my life where I was called, and times where I asked God for things and he answered.  I don’t know if I’m walking in my ultimate calling or not, or what little thing I might have said or did really made a difference while all the jobs and roles may mean little.  A video we watched said that sometimes it’s not so much about what we do and or where we are as much as who we are and are becoming.  Perhaps that is true to some extent.  Right now, I know I am a mom and I’m becoming a mom, and it’s taking all I’ve got to be up for the job.

To have the laundry ready, surfaces cleaned for a meal, cooking done and cleaned and some odd jobs done for different ones…that’s all the time I have each day.

I volunteer here and there.  I help out here and there.  I teach some.  And whether than amounts to a calling or not, I don’t know.  I just know it’s all I can handle right now and then some.

Household manager…and lacking most days in all that needs to be done while I’m here.  But, hopefully I’m getting caught up, a bit at a time.  A drawer here, a closet there, a pile here, a refrigerator there.  Hopefully it will all get done eventually.  I can’t say I’m “finding joy” in doing it…but I feel like it’s my job and what I’m supposed to be focused on this season.  Much has not been gone through in a while and it’s starting to all feel heavy and crowded and is taxing.  So…that’s my great calling.  To just keep going.  I feel tired a lot of the day, and I’m drinking a lot of coffee and keeping a lot of mental lists.  All in all, it doesn’t matter.  And all-in-all, it does.

I read questions like, “If today was your last day to live, would it really matter?  Would you do the same thing you are doing today?”

I don’t think that’s a good question to ask.  I think I good question to ask is, “Lord, what work have you entrusted to me today, and what needs to be done next?”

Because, no…if it were my last day, I would not care about the dishes.  But, knowing it is my job and it’s the next thing that needs to be done, it is my act of worship and service to my family to wash the dishes.

So…in all the volunteering and serves and working and calling and ordinary…there is joy.  I find joy in knowing I’ve done a little…not so much in the realization that there is much to go.  Hopefully as I get caught up and spaces cleaned, there will be mounting joy in finishing.  And hopefully I will get some bonus things done in the meantime that are on my “etc.” lists and my “want to” lists and my “giving” list.

This week, I made and sent out eight cards.  That was a bonus thing that gave me joy.

I feel tired a lot lately and somewhat overwhelmed by all that must be done.  But, I am thankful to have the time, the health, and the support to be here to do it.  I hope it bears fruit and trust that it will.

In all that, knowing that people are first is a huge challenge because after tackling messes all day, loving people is the last thing on my mind.  Whipping them into shape seems to be the predominating thought!  Maintain it!  Hopefully that will also bear fruit, and they feel loved by the treats and order and just people doing what needs to be done around them faithfully and consistently.

For now, time to get out of these little 2″ pumps and out of this skirt and into some Sunday afternoon comfy clothes before hospital visits and worship planning and clothes folding.  {Whew.}  I make myself a little tired just talking about it lately, so there is more “doing” than “writing about the doing”!

Just touching base…

Maggie

There is Nothing to Wear!

This morning, Red got up and I sent him and his sister to get dressed.

He requested pancakes, so I got busy on that.  I was a little short on the Bisquick, so I was digging for some self-rising flour to make up the extra.

I was assessing the amount of oil I might need to add to make up for the shortage when I heard Red stomp to the kitchen disgustedly yelling, uncharacteristically:  “AGH!  I have NOTHING to wear!  None of my clothes are in there!  There is NOTHING to wear!  Mom, there is NOTHING in here that matches.”

I said, “Son, that is impossible.  I just washed everything you own this weekend.  You’ve had clothes to wear all summer.  What’s wrong?”

“There is nothing in there!” he cried, adding some tears and reducing himself to a heap on the floor.

This is not my child who is the first out of bed, and usually the first to get dressed.

I said, “We’ll go check on it together, okay?  Sister, see if you can pull down the top box of his shirts where he can see and see if that helps.”

She tried, bless her heart, but I could hear a small ruckus beginning, so I dropped by pancake ordeal and went in myself.

I soon realized the problem.  Last year, I sorted all his clothes for him by things that went together.  This year, in the new system, all his shorts are in one container, and his shirts in another.  Though there are TONS of clothes, he could not manipulate the sorting and matching.  So…we pulled EVERYTHING out and began pairing things quickly.  I put them together in a new way for him, as a smile began to wash over his face.  “Okay, so…can you find something you like now?  Better?”

He kept working on the leftover things while I finished pancakes.

I just got home and had to rearrange some things where he could now reach them better as well.

I shared with my oldest son, as I will now share with my readers, that my Mom last week was told of a position in Iraq that might suit her, working at the same base as Pop.  Let me just tell you, managing “going back to school”, losing my kids, and the prospect of losing my mom in the same week was quite the act of strength and dignity.  It is the Lord Jesus I serve, and none other, or that week would not have flown.  I basically had to put it on the back burner until I had all the kids settled and tended to on their big week.

We don’t know yet if they will hire her, but her resume has been sent in.

Yesterday in worship, the first song, it was mom and I only in my pew, worshiping together.  The Hub was at work, kids in children’s church.  When we got to “from shore to shore” in the song…that was the last straw.

By greeting time, I lost it.  I saw my SIL, and collapsed on her, not to let go.   I said, “I just don’t think I can do this.”

She ever so eloquently said, “Yeah, you can.  Let me get you out of here.”

Can I just say that I like those two sentences paired together.  Not, “Yeah, you can.  Stop sobbing on me.” or “Yeah, you can, toughen up.”  or “Yeah, you can, now let’s get back to worship.”  Nope, none of that.  “Yeah, you can…let’s get you out of here for a minute.”

We prayed, and she reminded me of all the things I knew, and I straightened up to teach my first new Sunday School class of the season with kid’s expectantly waiting on a teacher to wow then with fun and cheer.

I even had the opportunity at the end of the service to pray for my mom at the altar.  But, by then, I was ready.

Anyway, I woke to another day feeling weighted by this thing way too big for me to even begin to process in any lucid way.  And I walked back in to all the piles needing to be put together understandably for my Red, and I remembered a verse from The Message I read once a long time ago that I liked.  I just sat down to look it up.  It says,

“God, pick up the pieces. Put me back together again. You are my praise!”

Jeremiah 17:14

I know that when I feel squeamish, like Red, and in those times when I am on a heap in the floor insisting nothing goes together, even getting tearful at times, not seeing it all…God is telling me, “But, that can’t be, I have it all ready for you!  I know it’s all there.”  I know He sends other to help me, and that even He himself, My Helper, comes to show me how it all fits together. And I know, that I too, in those moments, will feel a smile wash over me and joy return.  Countless times a day.

Live Full

I think of high gas prices.  I don’t know about you, but I keep letting my tank get closer to empty every time, hoping gas prices go down before I have to refill again! 

Thinking on this in spiritual terms, we are so blessed.  We don’t have to wait until we are sputtering, coasting into the station on fumes.  We can quickly “tank up” every day, every hour, every minute just by giving ourselves to Christ anew.  His energy, grace, passion, forgiveness, and purpose are not cheap, but they are free!  (Jesus already paid the price, once for all time.) 

Makes me want to get out extra containers and jugs!  Fill them up, being sure to have plenty to share.    ‘Freely you have received, freely give.’”

Join me in “TANKING UP” this week!  Hunt down all your jugs and containers and fill them up, too!  Let’s run on full, with plenty to share!  What we have access to is very expensive, but free!

Problems/Benefits of STATIC /(or) LEAVES and Beauty

This morning I had an early appointment at the car dealer to try to fix my van door locks.  They stopped working last week.  Flip the button up, flip it down, press the key fob…nothing happens. 

Interestingly enough, the dealer said that this “electrical problem” was generally easy to fix, just a fresh download from the computer, and it will reset.  He said, “Put some Bounce, or other fabric softener dryer sheets under your car seats and car mats to keep it from happening again.  It’s the only thing that will work.  The factory has tried and tried and can’t correct for random static build-up.  Body static alone getting in and out of the vehicle creates enough of a current it over-rides the {amps/volts…whatever} – the electronics just forget their settings.”

I started to think:  my life is a lot like that right now.  My system has been set many times with the right electronics to respond, yet lately there is too much static running through my system, things sliding this way and that, in and out, here and there.  I go for the fresh downloads every day, but alas, there is so much shifting, my memory “forgets” again and again.  When I least expect it, things just don’t work!  No matter how many buttons get pushed…buttons that worked before, they are NOT working today when I need them to!   Arg.

Stress, it’s a crazy thing.

I started to wonder…so what is the “bounce” for my life to put in my back pockets?  How do I protect my circuitry?  I’m in the word, I’m praying, I’m resting, I’m trying to eat well and life well and even eat the chocolate a girl needs under this amount of life!!!.  Still, short circuiting.  Oh, Lord!  I need to just crawl in a hole and stay there!

I think back to yesterday…are there clues I’m missing?  I mean, I don’t know if they are clues to fix anything, but did I hear God?  

On our field trip with the kids, several the ”active boys” wanted to be in my group because when I’m in the class, I try to help the teacher with those kids so that she can rest and be free to help others for that time.  They know me best…off we went.    In our LONG line of kids, I started picking up pretty leaves that had fallen, stacking them together neatly from BIG ORANGE LARGE in the back of my handle to LITTLE BITTY YELLOW POINTY leaf stacked neatly on the front.  It was beautiful.  Everyone commented on it.  They loved it.  I was enjoying it immensely. 

The kids all asked to hold it, but I wanted to get it back to the room in one piece, so I asked them to make their own!   Every leaf was interesting and of value to them.   Actually, they liked the crunchy ones–ones without color at all…of course, I knew those would make a mess and would not keep!  

On the way walking back, I had just a few boys in the very back of the line.  They wanted to give me some more leaves! I was getting picky by this point.  My stack had been held for three hours!.  My hand was cramping from holding them tight.  So, I was even more discerning by then, saying, “No, that one is a bit dry for us to keep.” or “That one is pretty broken up, let’s look for another.” 

I’d let it fall back to the ground. 

A little boy then reached down to the very next leaf in his path and said, “Look!”  I’m thinking he is NOT being very discerning yet!  Kids just don’t listen.  But, they are having a good time.

Out of my mouth was about to come, “Let’s look for another, it’s middle is all torn out…it’s getting dry”.

But, he went on quickly with a smile, holding his leaf way up to my face as we walked, and said ”See, it sort of looks like a butterfly!”

“Yes.  Why, it does.”, tucking it into my hand, behind another so that it’s “wings” wouldn’t get broken on the journey.

When we got back to the classroom, the teacher said she’d use the leaves for a project.  I said, “Oh.  Great!   Um, I just want to take a couple of them Flash picked out to show his Dad how pretty they are!”  (I lied, I wanted to keep the broken leaf).

I fished through for one BIG ORANGE leaf, one YELLOW POINTY leaf, and one torn and broken leaf that happened to look like a butterfly to a 6 year old, discerning little boy.  More discerning than I.  I really only took the others to make it look less obvious, and to protect it as I carried it home. 

Yesterday morning, a friend had bloggged about no longer considering herself ”a moth drawn to the light” as she used to say, but she now more like a butterfly, basking in the light.  I think of the graceful flight of a butterfly, in all it’s flitting, as compared to the mad frenzy of a moth.  Something in that touched me.  Another this week referred to the “process of becoming” using the same imagery of being a caterpillar, just breaking out. 

This year butterflies symbolize hope for me.  It seems that at the lowest of times, I run smack dab into them.  Or they run into me,  en masse.  It’s true.  And people, I don’t collect things.  I mean, I don’t keep groups of ducks and roosters, or angels or collectibles, this is a whole new thing for me–this “repeat exposure” to an object that means something to me.  This visual that needs to mean something to me, something I can’t quite put a finger on, but that I know it is significant for me to grasp.    

I read a magazine while I waited for my van to be de-static-tized.  I saw an advert with a butterfly in the background. 

In the meantime, the mechanic was warning me, you need to get some of those fabric softeners, or this will happen again.  I told him I would. 

Then, my eyes fell to an article that didn’t even apply to me, but it ended in this scripture:    

1Therefore, since we have been justified [made right with God] through faith [in Christ Jesus], we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, 2through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand. And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God.

3Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; 4perseverance, character; and character, hope.

5And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us.  (Romans 5:4-5)

So, yup, life brings inherent static.  But, to get to solid hope, we apparently need us some static.  Faith, hope, and love/the fruit of the Spirit?  These keep our systems running through Christ Jesus our Lord.  

That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong. (2 Cor. 12:10)

I do not feel strong yet.  I am not “delighting” yet.  I’m rather grumpy, in fact. 

This may require a process of character and perseverance, it may take some patience I don’t have either, but He promises to do the work if we’ll stay the course.  

In the meantime, he has “poured out HIS LOVE into OUR HEARTS by the Holy Spirit whom he has given us.”(Rom. 5:5) 

He loves us.  Like the leaf the little boy saw:  when our middle is all torn out, we’re getting a bit dry, our edges are a little shredded up,  we feel way past our peak and usefulness, probably not worth much more than throwing down for others to hear the sound of crunching under their feet in a brisk Autumn stroll.  

It is at that point,  that He reaches down and takes hold of us, and puts us in his collection.  He may tuck us in between two strong, younger leaves so that we don’t get our wings broken and he can continue to enjoy us.  We ;ook like a butterfly to Him.  We are most definitely “a keeper”!  

My Experience With Jesus Christ

Tonight’s teaching was on how “the truth is veiled to those who are perishing“.  I Corinthians 4.

Doesn’t that just break your heart to read?  

It made me want to be sure to tell you what is most important in my life, the glue that holdsthese ‘categories’, interests, talents (what that they may be), time, energy, words, life…together. 

It started when I was, oh, 4-7 years old (time is a little sketchy with memory that old).  I was molested over the course of a few years, I guess.  Tricked.  Cornered.  Locked in.  Connived.  Threatened.  Cornered.

My spirit was wounded.  I was embarrassed.  Ashamed.  Dirty.  Dis-trusting.  Angry.

I fortunately grew up in a Christian home (and this didn’t involve family…I had a very loving and supportive family, thank the Lord).  So, at the same time, I regularly heard at church in sermons from a loving pastor who was very kind to children with many questions, like me:  ”God wants you to be holy and pure before Him”. 

At the end of every service, in nearly every invitation, I knew I was already dirty because of things I had done (my own sin–what young girl of two younger, pestering brothers DOESN’T sin…a lot?), and those things that had been done against me.   I wasn’t pure, and I couldn’t get clean from it. 

I didn’t think God would hold what was not my fault against me, really.  No, He was my friend, and I loved Him, and He loved me.  But still, I could not meet his standard, and I was less than holy and less than pure, and it frustrated me.  I  missed out on something so precious to Him~purity. 

I discussed salvation with my Mom a few times, and with my pastor a few others, and I walked the aisle a few times, but, because I was so young, and because I loved Jesus so much, and because I had older cousins I adored getting saved, they wanted to make sure I knew what the deal was all about. 

I was very upset at this and cried many tears over not knowing how to “get it”.    (Now, knowing what I know now about the trauma of making an ill-informed or too early decision, I’m quite glad for the effect of the wait.  It probably taught me importance of waiting for God to reveal things to you.  I’ve forgiven them all for it.  At the time, it seems cruel.) 

But, one Easter, a pastor told about the price Jesus paid for me, and my sin.  Not another person’s sin.  Mine.  How the wrong thoughts, words, and actions on my part (and we all have them, according to the Bible) nailed a perfect man, the son of God, Jesus Christ, to the cross. 

He died, for me–he had to die.  Blood sacrifice from a perfect thing was what has always been required to pay the price for our sin–something standing in the place of us.  Death is the requirement for sin…some sort of death.  (That is why sin was atoned for by the blood of animals in the Old Testament…there was no perfect person to pay the price for us.  It was basically just a cover up until a perfect sacrifice could be found.  And Jesus was that sacrifice, forever ending the need for animal sacrifices).  Jesus was perfect sacrifice.  He knew no sin.  His coming was also an end to the requirements of the Law.  He brought a new order.   But, that’s another story.

This new system of forgiveness meant for me that God no longer saw me through my own sin, or even things that had happened to me.  He didn’t see me for anything I’d done, good or bad.  He saw me through the perfect blood of His son, Jesus.  He sees anyone that way who calls on Him to be the Saviour and Lord of their lives.  (Consequences still must be dealt with on earth, but we can be a friend of God’s and let Him use us and our messes from that point on). 

So, end result:  God now sees me as holy, pure, and innocent before Him.

To a child of eight or nine, you can’t imagine the weight of having something lost restored.  To never again hear the word purity and wonder if I’d never know it.  What joy!  After all the “life” that had already happened, much less all that would.  

And, oh!  The price of it all cost him:  blood, sweat, nail-scarred hands, beatings with shards of glass-like substances on whips.  He did it all for me.  He knew pain.  He knew pain…from me.   And for me.

He knew my heart.  He knew it all.

So, without reservation, Jesus is my hero!  With full knowledge of what it means to need a Savior, He was and is my Saviour.  Fully needing a rescue, He was my rescue.  Not at all holding anything back, I made Him my Lord.  Never questioning for a moment that He was my Friend.  Always relying on Him as my safety at night.  He would be my Protector by day.  No holds barred.  Nothing in between.  Nothing missing.  Nothing broken. 

And… I’ve always wanted to keep on pleasing Him. 

By most people’s standards, I’ve been more mature for my age than most of my friends.  I always guessed knowing how dark life can be, I wanted to be prepared, and I needed to be wise.  Wiser than I’d been.  I was serious; life had dealt seriously with me.  The cost was high, and Jesus had already done enough for me for a lifetime.  Black and white was a little more black and white for me.  I knew the weight of sin, and guilt (both real and false)…and I just didn’t want to feel it anymore than I had to. 

You know, I hope that while I do try to shelter my kids, they can also stand on my shoulders and learn that life can be hard without having to experience it all.  Yet, I don’t know if real learning without some pain is possible.  Trusting God is all I can do.  Do my best and trust Him with the rest, as my godly parents had to do.

People who have not known me in the past, or what I’ve been about, have criticized my life and walk for being a little too PollyAnna, or perhaps not in touch enough with suffering…not enough to know what it’s all about.  People have actually gotten angry about my peace, thinking I came from a Christian home, married a great guy, and had comparitively few scars.  Perhaps they were right.  It’s never worthwhile to compare scars.  Battles are battles, and we all have our scars.

I don’t talk about it and do not share a lot.  Perhaps I have probably not defended the hope that I have enough, or perhaps it is just time.  But, there’s a time for everything under heaven, and it wasn’t my time. 

Oh, yes, here have been times I feel convicted to share part of my experience of Christ with those who needed to hear it.  Tonight, for whatever reasons, is one of those times.

The miracle here is a young girl, still hurting, yet learning to forgive, on her own…with the counsel and help of the Holy Spirit along life’s way.  The miracle is a girl learning to become wise, and releasing people to God’s dealing, that Christ would become real to them, heal, and keep them from hurting others.  The miracle is a child not bitter and cynical, though perhaps more guarded and speculative (both a positive thing and a challenge).  

I have also prayed that the Lord would continue to deal with me as I need it.  Many women…stats say one in three, are in need of healing.  A big number. 

Yes, it’s not all over.  There are times I remember things, fairly often, for whatever reasons, and I hurt, or disgusted, or angry.  But, I know where to take it….right back to the same saving cross.  I have recently asked to see where Jesus was in those times, and He has shown me his hand, and help and presence to protect.    

Jesus was my answer, my solution, my source,  my all.  Still is.  Jesus had put people in my path to help me all along the way, to respect the healing process.

I write this to say:  whatever problem you are facing (and there have been many that have come my way since) there is no greater solution or help that I have found in all my years, no matter what my problem.  My Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ–not only died for me, He now lives in me.  Comfort, help in time of need, song, strength, solution.   I need only to wait on Him.

I hope to occasionally post parts of my walk with Christ under “My Experience of Jesus Christ” in the Categories. 

Note to readers:  you may have shared similar experiences as I have.  God leads us to share about these at different times and ways.  Don’t give Satan any glory by whether or not you choose to share in any given situation.  I am not sure why I felt led to share tonight, but I did.  I am not sure how the post long it will stay up, but it is here for now, for the one who needs it, if it is only practice for me. 

Blessings to you, friends.

Feel free to email me me with any questions you may have regarding Christ Jesus.   Due to the delicate topic, and due to my discomfort discussing it in general, comments will be closed on this post.  But, feel free to talk with me privately by email if you wish.